Now that you're three, the monthly developments seem a little less significant. The degree to which you can successfully pick your nose or the milliseconds less it takes you to put on your shoes seem numerically immeasurable.
Nonetheless, it seems I should keep up with the practice of writing to you monthly, if only to tell you how much I love you.
While you look like your daddy, in most ways you are a lot like me. It's TBD how much of your personality is your DNA and how much of it because you spend so much time with me.
Specifically, you use a lot of the phrases I use. Your manerisms are similar.
The other day, I put Danjo down for a nap without her Lovie. I began to wander the house like a crazy person, talking to myself. This is something I did before you existed in the tangible world; talked to inanimate objects, mumbled to myself while putting together IKEA furniture. But, which I now euphemistically claim is a practice that is "beneficial to developing your meta-cognitive, problem solving and critical thinking skills."
"Lovie, where arrrrre you?" I sing-song asked.
She was no where to be found.
"Bel, have you seen your sister's Lovie?" I asked, knowing you're the observant type, hoping you had either seen it somewhere or mischievously hid it somewhere yourself.
You didn't skip a beat, as you sat on the couch, reading a book. You didn't look up. You didn't bother to feign a search effort.
"Hmmmm. That's strange," you said.
You routinely use phrases like these. Things you've picked up and use in context. You're SO precocious. You know that "Hmmmm. That's strange" is something that someone says when something mysteriously goes missing, when it can't be found. Given that you DIDN'T EVEN LOOK, I guess this was an appropriate usage.
You often alert us when you have to pee: "Oh! I have to go pee!"